Of Mistletoe and Stolen Thimbles
by Kittie Darkhart
Summary: He'd captured her. Again. Although whether it was for his own selfish pleasure in taking her away from those whom she loved during such a special occasion or for another reason entirely, she had yet to determine, since a Christmas spent on the Jolly Roger was the last thing she could've imagined, let alone wanted.


Disclaimer: The concept, characters, and storyline of _Peter Pan_ belongs to J.M. Barrie. The idea for this oneshot, however, belongs to me. :)

Summary: He'd captured her. Again. Although whether it was for his own selfish pleasure in taking her away from those whom she loved during such a special occasion or for another reason entirely, she had yet to discover, since a Christmas spent on the _Jolly Roger_ was the last thing she could've imagined, let alone wanted.

Of Mistletoe and Stolen Thimbles

"_The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication." — _O. Henry, excerpt from _The Gift of the Magi._

_Somewhere, in between London and the Neverland_

_Christmas Eve, 1917_

…

"You do realise that Peter will come for me, once he discovers that I'm gone."

A harsh silence pervaded over the shadows which surrounded the one who uttered such thought-provoking words, whereas the answer to such a declaration fell despairingly between both captive and captor. Only the upsurge of the crashing waves of a foreign sea from without dared penetrate the stillness that presently enshrouded the illustrious, poorly-lit cabin belonging to one recently-returned-from-the-dead Captain James Hook.

For seeing him now, clad in full pirate regalia, with a vengeful look in his solemn eyes, compelled the one seated, not three feet away from him, to inwardly recoil. At turns both handsome and slightly disgusting in his manner and appearance, the Captain was, by an extraordinary circumstance, quite alive; though whether he was well or not, his present company had yet to surmise. For the pirate, as was his custom, said nothing in response to her outburst, the gravity in his stare an intimidating portrait of itself from years past. For there he stood before his quarry, embellished in striking reds and flamboyant golds, a lavish personification of the garish, vain nature of his better self. He was every inch the villainous pirate from her stories, and perhaps even more so, since he'd somehow cheated death itself by tearing a hole in the crocodile's gullet. He didn't appear the worse for wear after such an unspeakable event—quite the opposite, really—as a silent Wendy Darling was reluctantly forced to admit. Her unprecedented reunion with the Captain was a twist in a story that she, to her dismay, now found herself inordinately stunned in disbelief.

But of course, as with any story, this observation wasn't a proper beginning to that which was considered worthwhile in telling. No, the very place to start would be at the very beginning; however, the prologue itself would be dreadfully long, and even storytellers—at least those in Wendy's experience—needed a moment to collect themselves, for the time it takes to fashion such an overly anticipated exposition.

To put it frankly, she wasn't at all pleased by how her night had turned out. For instead of sharing a most happy occasion with her family the following morning, she'd found herself both gagged and bound by one long considered dead. She'd never expected he would come for her, and in such a frightfully scandalous manner, too! Alighting with whatever means he had somehow accrued, he'd managed what only Peter himself had done, by breaking through the window of her room. How he'd found her, she knew not. Why he'd come, she could very well guess.

"If this is a scheme of revenge," she began again, her voice all hellfire and condemnation. Being gagged, and then freed from her deplorable confines as that of a soiled handkerchief—sweat from his very own brow, no less—naturally had a tendency to do that to one who'd found herself abducted by a most terrible man inspired by a little girl's stories. And Wendy, who was no less than one made captive by such a depraved figure, glowered at a silent Captain Hook, critically. "You've no idea the mistake you've made—by bringing me here. Why, Peter will—"

"I somehow doubt that Pan will come for you, since, to my understanding, he seems to have quite forgotten you," interjected the man she now believed the devil himself. Wendy had even deemed him as much, not that he took any offence to it. In fact, the slight seemed to have quite the opposite effect, since he had the audacity to consider it a compliment. As he, in turn, was all politeness and cordiality to her, when considering her a lady, as well as taking her more ladylike sensibilities into account. He'd had the courtesy, after all, to bind her to a comfortable cushioned chair of brocade and green velvet, the makeshift rope around her wrists naught but a silken pink sash, which he'd selected in the belief that she'd favour the colour over the standard hemp rope he had in his possession. But then, his expectations were set a little low when she'd failed to take note of this most singular kindness; for when he ungagged her and offered her a glass of his finest wine, did she turn on him like an ungrateful little wench.

"Oh, how I want to go home! You can't imagine how your taking me away will upset my family, and on such a day, too. You are, quite possibly, the most heartless person I've ever had the misfortune in meeting." And so on. She'd said this and more to him, an endless litany, which was more so focused on guilting him into returning her home than anything. But then, there were a few pleasant aspects he'd belatedly come to discover during her cold censure of him. Aspects, in which, that had pleasantly surprised him.

She'd aged a little since he'd last seen her; that much was apparent. With the delicate curves that composed that of her hips and her heart-shaped face, he couldn't deny that she'd changed. Her hair had grown to a considerable length, waving deftly across her back, her eyes as dark and alluring as the sable strands that were held back by a single white ribbon. She wasn't overly tall, although she was taller than Pan now: a lovely, slender, waiflike creature who presently wore a nightgown that complimented the contours of an obviously feminine body. Oh, yes, little Wendy Darling had indeed grown up in spite of herself—and in spite of Pan, too, it seemed. It was a reality in which Peter's nemesis joyously revelled in.

And, naturally, he was hard-pressed in keeping such sublime joy only unto himself. It would be bad form to do so, after all. And so, when the Captain felt Wendy's hopes were quite dashed, he made to afford her the kindness in lifting them. "You shouldn't fret, my beauty; that boy would forget his head if it wasn't regrettably attached to his shoulders," he mused, somewhat morbidly, as he continued on in his assessment. "Indeed, I believe he's forgotten a good many things over the years." He heard a very unladylike snort coming from his captive's direction. "You believe differently, I see. Well, pray tell, how are you opposed to my view on such?"

His captive stared at him, half-surprised that he allowed her to oppose him; whereas the other half of her remained incredulous, as to where this conversation was presently leading. "It's only sometimes that he forgets," Wendy said at length, choosing her words carefully; she'd no wish to jeopardise Peter's wellbeing, as well as hers, simply because of a need for honesty. "He would sometimes come for me, for spring-cleaning time. But that was so long ago, Captain, so I hardly think it matters."

But the Captain wasn't at all convinced, if that slight glint of satisfaction Wendy unfortunately saw in his eyes said anything. "Perhaps not, but weren't there a few spring cleanings and other such occasions that he was pressed into remembering yet forgetting all the same? Oh, worry not, my dear," he said, all in mock comfort to her, an oily mixture of pleasure and cruelty, "I am sure that he's quite forgotten me, as well."

Whatever retort Wendy had for the Captain died on her tongue, his admission blindsiding her. "Then you haven't fought with him," she suddenly deduced, her eyes meeting his for the first time since his rousing her from her sleep. If she lived to be a hundred, she doubted she would ever forget awakening to the forbidding stare that he had placed upon her this very night. She doubted she could ever escape from those forget-me-not eyes, cold and piercing, as they'd rendered her speechless. Their gazes locked in the instant, light and dark, a dream come to life in the wake of reality. Captain James Hook had come to London, and Wendy could think of no worse a thing, than to find herself in his company.

But then, there were worse things, she sadly discovered. Waking to the face of an adversary, long believed dead, had been the least of her problems. From her long list of following rules, sitting appropriately at teatime, always keeping a handkerchief about her person, unwanted suitors, and battling the idea of growing up, everything else were but mere trifles, compared to her present dilemma, as she now set, perilously bound before a man who would as much as slit her throat with his hook as he would afford her the pleasure in commenting on what little beauty she possessed. Of course he hadn't done such a thing, and she didn't expect him to. She would split her infinitives first.

Even more, however, she doubted she would ever forgive him for slipping into her bedroom at so late an hour, or for his taking possession of her mouth and arms, as she was far from forgiving him for taking her away from everything she loved on the one night in which she could, scarcely, ill afford. The thought of frightening her family with her sudden disappearance upset her more than dying, and she looked up at the imposing Captain with only sadness in her eyes. "Why have you taken me away?" she quietly asked of him, all fiery rage and bravado gone, as she now only desired an answer from him, even if it was only a lie. "Why have you taken me away from my family?"

Her captor said nothing for a moment, merely looked at her. "If I were to answer that, then I should do you a terrible disservice in surprising you," he answered, a little too gently for Wendy's liking, since he had the nerve to take a seat across from her, propping his elbows on the chair's wooden arms as his head came to rest upon his one remaining hand. "Besides, I should like to spend time in getting reacquainted with you. I should like to know everything you've done since last we met."

Wendy frowned at the suggestion. "That would be a terribly dreary explanation, sir," answered she, with a touch of hesitation. "I live very plainly, as you might've seen by the home that I inhabit."

And certainly the Captain noticed, for the house, as well as its furnishings, implicated as much. Lower middle class. A step above the unfortunate, wretched little dregs that toiled about in the snowy streets below. Yes, whether he desired or not, he'd been made privy to her family's financial situation. She was barely marriageable, her looks her one saving grace in such a materialistic and mercenary world. Even so, Hook pressed her to speak of her life, claiming they had nothing better to do, in the time they had together. And Wendy, against her better judgment, conceded. She told him of her life after Neverland, in a world of the dull, ugly, and oh-so very ordinary.

"After attending finishing school, I've now found myself quite at home a lot. My brothers come in from university to visit whenever they're on leave for the holidays, of course, but I'm always at home with Mother and Father and Nana. It's a very ordinary life I live, unlike that of sailing the high seas and living from one adventure to the next. Do you ever grow tired of it at all, Captain?" she asked, almost forgetting to whom she was speaking. "I imagine how wonderful it must be, to captain a ship of your very own." She glanced about the cabin, and she supressed a feeling of admiration for the handsome brig, albeit a little messy from the Captain's neglect of it, as the comfortable silence between them made her wonder about the ship's other occupants. "Have you acquired a new crew?" she suddenly enquired. "I can remember Mr. Smee and Gentleman Starkey, but the others…"

"Are quite dead, as you might care to remember them," Hook answered bitterly. He ignored the slight look of contrition she offered him, as he went on, "Yes, quite dead they are, and good riddance, too. They were mindless dogs, the lot of them." He practically sneered at Wendy as he said this, and he moved closer to her. "Do you pity them now, I wonder? Do you pity me for surviving, when they did not? It is very quiet on this ship, as you've already noticed, mainly for the fact that I was reluctant in acquiring myself another crew. As for the other two…"

He'd seen Mr. Smee, only once, and that was from a distance. He hadn't bothered in making his presence known to his doddering old bo'sun, who now made the ridiculous claim that he was only man whom Jas. Hook feared. Nor did he care to say anything to Gentleman Starkey, who, to his knowledge, still suffered a terrible comedown in playing a nurse to the Indians' papooses. No, Hook had become a man of his own ship, well after Pan had abandoned the brig and forgot about it. The leftover fairy dust that had somehow wedged in between the brig's cracks had remained, as the Captain controlled his ship with a strong wind and a happy thought. He'd no need for a crew, not while the fairy dust held out. Of course, he failed to relate any of this to Wendy, who by now asked of his finding her, for she'd become the unwilling pawn in this game he played.

"You're a most terrible person, to want to avenge yourself by abducting me, sir," a very unimpressed Wendy Darling pointed out, her bound hands, enclosed in their silken fetters, reminding her of the prisoner she'd once again become to the dark and sinister man standing before her.

"I should imagine that I am," replied a collected Hook, who had wisely caught onto Wendy's underlying sadness. He smiled in secret triumph, dark and cadaverous; his cold forget-me-not eyes the antithesis of anything close to granting mercy. "And you're quite the lady now, I must say. I must also confess that you are decidedly a little older from what I remember," said he. "If you would permit me in asking, dear girl, how old are you?" He saw her blush at the question, and he loved her for it. "But come, come now, how old are you?" he pressed, once again, hoping to see another blush pass over her cheeks.

"Twenty, sir."

The Captain's hidden smile fell at the divulgence of that most remarkable number. "Twenty?" he echoed hollowly, his grand façade slipping, if only slightly. "Are you engaged?"

Wendy shook her head. "No, I am not," she answered, somewhat irritably, but then felt a slight pang of regret. Passing strange though it was, the Captain hadn't reproved her for her answer. Rather the opposite, in fact, and it, most unexpectedly, encouraged her to speak more freely on the subject—even if her present companion made her feel absolutely miserable. "Forgive me for snapping at you as I did, sir. I admit it's refreshing for someone to not scoff at me when I tell them as much, although I don't understand why you feel at liberty to ask, since I've no wish to marry any of those stuffy-minded young men, who think me a little touched in the head to be any sort of decent wife, let alone be suitable for bearing them any children." She shook her head then, her composure lost in the midst of her tirade. "I just want to return home to my family and salvage what little time I shall have with my brothers, since they're the only ones who aren't pressing me into marrying."

Her captor was, once again, as dreadfully silent as the grave. He looked at her, his eyes shifting to admire her lovely, delicately kissable mouth…and instantly frowned at what he saw. There was something there, he was sure, winking at him at the right-hand corner. But then it disappeared, a lovely pretence of something he could never have, and nothing more. But the girl, the storyteller, was here, and he was unwilling to let _her_ disappear.

"You must love them, for you to plead to one such as I for your safe return unto them," he observed in a voice that unconsciously entranced Wendy. "Indeed, you must love them all very dearly."

The young woman met his eyes, sepia-toned brown locking with relentless blue. "I do," she said, with utmost conviction. "I love all of my family, but my brothers…"

"Are your very world," he finished for her in a magnificent flourish, now perceptive in how her mind worked. "I see, and I understand." At this, he made to stand as he moved in behind her, his mouth only a whisper away from her face. He heard her breathe in, felt her repress a shudder, and his smile returned. She wanted nothing more than to return home, did she? What a pity, for he loved her company so. Years of isolation had apparently made him starved for company, and Miss Darling—for she had no attachment to that most modestly maiden name—was proving a most welcome diversion indeed. "Family is very important to you, but what would happen if you decided to broaden your prospects a little?"

Wendy turned to face him, a slight frown marring her beautiful face. "Broaden my prospects?" she reiterated, this time in uncertainty. "What are you suggesting, if not for some kind of harm you intend against Peter or myself?" She felt him recoil at the mere mention of his greatest adversary, catching his scowl as he looked down at her in disappointment.

"Not everything I speak of is tied to that infernal boy," he muttered scornfully, the solemn blue of his eyes now bleeding into a most profound shade of red. "But now I see that you are only concerned with that impudent little scug. Do you fancy yourself in love with him, I wonder? Oh, yes, you must, for why would you hold onto his memory, when he himself has precious little regard for his memory of you?" He threw her a condescending smile, although his taunt was enough to make Wendy snap.

She fought against her binds, glaring murderously at him as she did so. "How dare you?" she seethed, still fighting, yet finding such to be in vain. "How dare you torment me so? I barely even made your acquaintance here, on this ship, before you had the mind to send me and my brothers over its edge. Of course I love Peter, but it's not in the way you might expect, you foolish man." Her face contorted into an expression of disgust when he frowned at the designation she'd given him. "Well, Captain, you are foolish, if you believe that I consider myself hopelessly in love with a little boy. For I grew up, most unwillingly, I might add; and, as such, so did my feelings for him change from the innocent love that a girl harbours in her heart to nothing more than a fond memory of something that I can, only now, distantly place. I care for Peter, but I'm no longer heartbroken about him forgetting me. I know he has. I knew he would. And I've accepted that I shall never see him again."

And again, the silence from before pervaded the elaborate cabin, as Wendy and her captor considered each other, face to face, before the murderous red rage in the Captain's eyes dissipated back into the placid, hopeless shades of melancholy blue from before. She looked at him, a little sadly now, and she breathed for the both of them. It was then she noticed a small collection of flowers—irises, she thought—that were kept in a glass vase on a nearby table. She was unaware of the Captain's fondness of flowers, the very possibility of which almost frightening her.

Attempting to calm herself, she moved to broach another subject entirely. "Forgive me, Captain, but I fear I'm proving to be a very poor prisoner indeed." She heard him laugh—a most exquisitely genteel sound it was—before she felt him, this time behind her, as he singlehandedly free her from her bonds, the bit of silk sliding from her wrists. She heard him urge her to stand, which she did, if a little unwillingly, before regaining control of her senses. He'd freed her. She'd apologised, and then he'd freed her, but why? She turned to face him, an expression of wonder and confusion suffusing her gentle features. "Captain, why did you—"

But he silenced her inquiry with a slight wave of his hook. "'Tis nothing," he replied, although both knew it was more than nothing, the pink sash resting idly in his hand, boundless and free. "And yet, since I've shown you a kindness in unbinding you, I should require something in return." He didn't allow her any time to argue, choosing instead to once again become the ominous dark figure that had threated to make her walk the plank. _Bad form, bully_, his inner voice taunted, but he ignored it. Clearing his throat, he instead ventured: "Since I've afforded you a kindness, perhaps you shall reciprocate the favour and explain your reasons for returning home. What makes this night more significant than any other?"

He was met with surprise, and then disbelief. "You don't know?" asked a doubtful Wendy. "You can't say that you don't know what tonight is. It's Christmas Eve, Captain, the night before Christmas. Were you not aware?"

The Captain glowered darkly at his ignorance in keeping time. Time. Ha! He'd defeated time well enough; the crocodile and its damnably persistent ticking no more. But still, he hadn't been aware of the day. To abduct an insightful young woman as Miss Darling on Christmas Eve…Was such considered terribly bad form? Surely not. But regardless, he had, and he felt, to his dissatisfaction, a slight touch of compassion for the girl. "No, I wasn't aware, Miss Darling. As you might see, there is no such thing as Christmas in the Neverland; and since Smee and others are gone, each day aboard drifts from one passing current of time into the next."

Realisation dawned in Wendy's dark eyes, the shadows around them dispelling in the wake of his words. "You don't celebrate Christmas?" she asked, nay demanded, and the Captain, to her horror, shook his head. "I am so very sorry, Captain. I never truly thought of the holidays when I visited…" She had the kindness in refraining from mentioning Peter, although the Captain understood her meaning entirely. And yet, in spite of his bitterness toward everything Peter represented, he still afforded Wendy the kindness in sitting with him, this time unbound, as he poured them both a glass of wine.

"I insist you drink, Miss Darling, since it would be bad form to insult your host so, and on such a night, too." He handed her the glass, and secretly prided himself when he watched her indulge in its sinfully sanguine contents. "What say you, girl?" he asked after some time, noting with pleasure that she imbibed in a little more than what he'd initially expected. "Does the taste please you?"

Wendy nodded, before setting her now empty glass aside. "You were right, Captain: that is the finest wine I've ever had the pleasure in drinking. However did you come to acquire it?"

Her captor offered her a devilish smile. "Do you really wish to know that, Miss Darling?" he queried as he saw her shake her head. "Quite perceptive of you to decline; I am a pirate after all, and I've more than gained my fair share of some of the world's most sought-after treasures. Be it gold, jewels, or even wine."

"And also storytellers, it seems," mused a smiling Wendy, who now made it quite evident that she didn't completely feel only animosity toward him.

The Captain observed her and her almost carefree smile in silence. Perhaps the wine had made her more amiable toward him, perhaps it was something more. Either way, her smile was enough to put Hook at ease when he spoke to her, viewing her more than simply as a means in exacting his revenge against a foolish little boy who'd quite forgotten the both of them. It was a tragic misfortune in which they shared. A common bond. Yes, he rather liked that notion. And so, whilst listening to her speak fondly of the Christmases she'd shared with her family since she was but a child, and nodding only appropriately when she asked his opinion, had he found himself captivated, nay intrigued, by this mere slip of a girl sitting across from him. If only his dogs, or even his fellows from his old school, could see him now, sitting and chattering away with a girl whose head was so often lost in the clouds, then he would lose all sense of respectability.

And yet, he cared not, for he greatly enjoyed hearing the silly little stories Miss Darling claimed them to be. No one had ever confided in him with such things. _She would be yours to keep, to have her tell stories for the better part of forever_, he selfishly thought, and he considered the temptation in keeping his little captive indefinitely. For what power could prevent him from keeping her? With the exception of the Almighty Himself, which Hook still rather feared, he doubted that anything else could keep him from having her. Pan had forgotten her, which conveniently worked to his benefit. But then, he made the terrible mistake in discussing what it would be to have Christmas on his ship.

"We could, Miss Darling," he suggested with a pointed tilt of his hook. "You could school me in your traditions, since my knowledge of the goings on in London is a little, I fear to say, behind the times."

At this, he saw her bite the lower half of her lip, where again he saw only that perplexing combination of curiosity and interest. "Did you never celebrate Christmas, Captain?" she asked, almost in despair when he inclined his head in affirmation.

"You forget that a majority of my family lived in a time when Christmas was forbidden," remarked he. "I daresay Cromwell's mad legion of lemmings did their work in barring any pleasure in enjoying the day—by carting people off to prison. You couldn't even attend church. And with my family being staunchly based in the more than infamous side of a deposed king's church, well…I imagine you can surmise what would've happened if they did give into such frivolity."

And Wendy could, as she took in his long black hair and starched white ruff. "They would've carted you straight off, before you stepped one foot outside your door, Captain." She again received the pleasant sound of his laughter for her efforts, and she, too, laughed, as she found a semblance of something more about the man who had, this very night, abducted her solely for his pleasure. "That is most unfortunate that you never had a proper Christmas; you should see England now, sir, for everything's changed since the Restoration. Why, we now have a tree in which we decorate with glass ornaments and candle sticks."

It was here that Wendy promptly lost him, for the Captain looked at her, quite bewildered at the idea of having a live tree inside of a home.

"Why would you consider having one—a veritable fire hazard, no less—as a decoration? Who instilled such nonsense, among the minds of your fellow peers?" he demanded before he caught sight of Wendy's tenuous smile. He then offered her one of his own. "What is it that amuses you so, Miss Darling? Come, now, you make speak freely."

The woman in question, with her mouth full of hidden thimbles, acceded to his request. Cradling her hands delicately over her lap, she considered how strange it was to speak with the Captain that she'd for long feared as she looked at the man sitting so near to her. How different he seemed. How curious. She was, if anything, fascinated; and it was with a light heart that she gave into that most alluring sentiment. "The tree is a German tradition, Captain," she elucidated politely. "It was brought over almost a century ago, when Queen Victoria herself was but a young child. It was a royal tradition first, but now many families in England celebrate it."

Hook visibly grimaced at the small history lesson she'd afforded him. "A queen, you say?" he questioned, refraining from expressing his personal distaste. "I imagine it was another of those damned Hanovers. They're a mad family, all of them, my beauty. I'd stay well away from any of _their_ traditions, if I were so inclined to be in thy position." He was graced with another smile, although he caught her slightly gaping at his comment about a former monarch. But then, to her credit, she had the good sense not to say anything in response to his aversion of anything dealing with the monarchy. Being a man of his profession, it would be terrible form in acknowledging those who would gladly have his head on a golden plate. As such, he returned them to the conversation at hand, as Wendy continued on about a few traditions that he vaguely knew a little something of.

"We have dinner, and then sometimes Mother plays the piano, while the rest of us dance about the parlour room and sing Christmas carols. We send Christmas cards to those we know and love, especially now, with the war." She sobered a little then, her face losing a fragment of its lustre when the Captain enquired of the war. "It began a little over three years ago, and so many have died since," she duly explained. "Some of my brothers have even enlisted, although they have yet to leave for service. I worry for them. That's why I…"

And Hook understood. Regrettably so. It would perhaps be the last time she would ever see them alive. And if such happened, and he kept her here, on his ship, it would be the greatest form of revenge…

_Bad form, you lowly scug_, tapped the house of his old school.

But again, Hook ignored it.

The concept of possessing good form was strangely foreign to him at that moment; for as Hook now gazed upon Wendy, with a world of sadness and dissolution lingering within her midnight eyes, he found himself standing from his seat. Good form could scarcely keep him seated, since he pulled her up in spite of the cry of outrage from his former house, his hand and hook claiming her arms as he leaned in close and whispered:

"It would be the best of form if I returned you, then." He regarded her in silence, a faint consideration of letting her go passing through his dark brain, but then his selfish mind leaned in the opposite direction. "And yet, in my relinquishing of you, you would have all but left me here, without any experience of the traditions that you hold onto so dearly. I've never had a Christmas—not one that you've had with dancing and singing and laughter—for my own family was sadly lacking in all three of those pursuits that so many of your personal acquaintance take so factitiously for granted. I understand I should turn my ship around, since we are still yet not so far away from London, and return you to your family. I know I should, but now I confess that you've given me but a small taste of thy own happiness, and I cannot give that up. Bad form or not, I _won't_ give it up. I won't give _you_ up, Miss Darling, not even if you hate me until the edge of forever."

As he uttered this appalling confession, the light in Wendy's eyes flickered, fading, before burning out completely. Tears replaced her gentle smile, and Wendy turned away, unable to face the man whom she, if only for a moment, admired. "Then I shall be but your prisoner," she whispered, forfeiting any will to fight him or her terrible fate. "I shall be but your little _plaything_, Captain."

"That's not what I want."

Refusing to acknowledge him, Wendy stared down dejectedly at the faded wood floor. "But that's precisely what you shall receive from me," she countered, a hollow shell of her former self, and she refused him when he demanded that she turn and face him completely. "You might as well imprison me below, for I am quite ready to be bound again. To think, I almost thought you possessed some heartfelt compassion about you, but now I know that yours is a heart of stone."

She failed to see the red in his eyes, lost as she was in her own sorrow. She cried out, however, when she felt the hook fall against her throat when he forced her to turn and look at him. "You're as taciturn and mindless as I first believed you," he callously rejoined, harsh in his summation of her character. "For what would you know of cruelty, when you have only but had a loving family to provide you with the opposite? Dost think that _I've_ had any on this ship to show love or concern for my wellbeing? No, the only one who has done so is that which keeps you drawn against me now." He slid his hook against the small of her back in emphasis—a forward approach, which made her gasp—but the feeling left him cold when he felt her shudder. "I think my hook is displeased," he added, twisted and sardonically, with a hard edge of indifference. "And yet, I'm not of a mind to force you to shake hands with it. I don't want that, Miss Darling. I don't want—"

But he was unable finish, as a powerful sense of loss overtook his darker nature. And Wendy, perilously drawn to such immeasurable sadness, overcame her fear as she compelled him to look at her, those gentle hands coming to caress the outline of his face and jawline as she stared into the sadness of his eyes and felt more than simply pity or revulsion. "Have you ever received a present from anyone, Captain?"

Hook stared at her, utterly bewildered by her question. For out of the many slanders she could've attributed to his name, or the vast array of hateful remarks she could impress upon his person, he hadn't expected that from her. And it angered him, more than anything else.

"Presents, Miss Darling?" he repeated numbly, the hook twitching dangerously at his side. "I wouldn't know; I've had precious little experience with them."

Dark eyes captured his in their unassuming innocence, blind to the danger the iron limb so close to her side presented. "Has no one ever given you a gift, Captain?" she asked as he coldly shook his head, and a single tear brimmed at the corner of her left eye, clear and crystalline, distilled from the purity of her heart. "Then you've been grievously wronged, sir, for I must tell you of a tradition that even I have never participated in. Have you ever heard of the hanging of mistletoe?" She again saw him shake that unruly mane of ebony and velvet and feathers, and she smiled. "I imagine you don't have any aboard, do you? No? What a pity. But then, I suppose we can always improvise." It was here she retrieved one of the irises from the vase, before she promptly returned to the Captain's side.

It must be noted that even a most erudite and learned man, who clung to the traditions of his race like Hook, was therefore completely at a loss when Wendy returned with a flower in hand. "Miss Darling, what—"

But she hushed him with her soft fingers as they rested upon his lips. "You said you wanted Christmas on the ship, did you not?" she prompted, and happily she saw him nod. "Well, then, allow me to share with you in this one tradition, Captain, for it's as old as the ages, and yet shall be new to the both of us." And it was this final utterance that Wendy lifted the iris over their heads, her other hand grasping his hook for balance as she stood on the tips of her toes, eyes closed, and she kissed him soundly on the mouth. She heard him breathe, a slight intake of breath, and she felt him stiffen against her gentle onslaught before he finally registered the kiss with utmost intensity. She smiled into the kiss before finding it returned in kind, the iris falling from her hand as she wrapped her arms around the man who taken so much from her, and yet gave something more in return.

The kiss seemed to last until the stars fell from the skies above—gentle, tender-taken, and absolute in its sincerity—and yet the Captain and the Storyteller remained, locked in the other's embrace as Wendy bestowed her greatest present on one who was, perhaps, less than deserving of it. But then, it was with a free and full heart that she gave it, her hidden kiss—her most precious thimble—had been freely given to a man who had no kiss call his own, not even from his dead mother. It was a most poignant realisation that slowly dawned on Hook, for he pulled away from Wendy, half-heartedly, his face awash with despair.

"Thank you," he whispered faintly, his hand coming to caress where her hidden kiss had been as it now remained, steadfast, in the right-hand corner of his own. So, that was what it had been. A kiss all along, and he, James Hook, had been blessed in the receiving of it. He almost fell to his knees at the enormity of such a gift and wept, as he glanced down at his Wendy—for he now considered her kiss, as well as everything else, his—and he smiled when he tapped the corner of his mouth. "Christmas or not, I shall consider this the greatest gift I've ever received."

He heartened when he saw her smile, and he kissed her again, holding onto her for a moment more before conceding to what he must do. It took the better half of himself to finally give in, but he did, even though it cost him in his heart. "You've shown me a kindness in which I've never known," he solemnly revealed. "And now that I've experienced it, I feel I must give you something in return." He hushed her before she could ask, for it very nearly broke him to speak. "I shall return you to your loved ones, Wendy Darling, for that is where you belong."

Wendy uttered a small cry before embracing him in full. "Thank you, Captain, thank you for taking me home," she murmured softly against his chest, revelling in the sound of the great heart that beat within. He'd inadvertently called her by her first name, and she loved him for it. She'd given him a kiss out of compassion, but, inwardly, she wished for something more—kisses at all times of the year—with the man whom she could barely fathom as the one who now held her kiss in trust. "Captain, I understand this might be a little forward of me, but what are your plans for Christmas next?" she enquired with a shy blush that made the Captain still in his answer.

Hook blinked at her, genuine confusion written upon those patrician features; for Wendy to catch him a second time in a state of uncertainty was truly extraordinary indeed. And yet, regardless of his sudden loss of composure, the Captain smiled, as he finally revealed his reason for taking her and how he'd found her. "I decided to take you, mainly for the reason that if I, Captain James Hook, had to bear an eternity in remaining alone, without any show of love or kindness, then I would inflict such in kind upon the one responsible for that foolish boy actually remembering her. But of course, I wasn't aware of where you resided; I knew it was somewhere in London, but the address had eluded me for some time. But then, one night, I considered that which had presented itself a route to you all along; I wished to see _you_, Miss Darling, for fairy dust is a powerful thing, or so I've been told. And yet, I now see that a kiss is even more so. I daresay you were my happy thought, Wendy Darling, in which I've only now come to realise."

The dynamic between the two suddenly shifted, where time itself seemed out of joint, and Wendy, staring silently into the eyes of her Captain—eyes which held only shadows of the unknown—could do naught but acknowledge that what he confessed was more than simply a lie. It felt as though the veil had been lifted from her eyes, for she looked at him with an entirely different perception from the one she'd so long possessed. There was goodness there, though small, locked deeply within this man of flesh and iron and forget-me-not. It was more than his sense of good form; it was so much more than that idle presumption from his boyhood days on a well-tended playing field, and Wendy knew that however small that fragment of goodness was, it was certainly worth finding. For if he could take her kiss for his own, then it was certainly worth affording the man—the villain of her innermost fears—who presently stood before her another chance.

Thus encouraged by the kiss she saw at the right-hand corner of his mouth, she smiled and inclined her head. "I am doubly glad for your realisation, Captain, and all I wish for you to know is that my invitation is still open, should you wish to come. You will be most welcomed, especially since you now know where I live," she offered, with another small blush that, unbeknownst to her, affected the Captain in such a way that she would never know. "All I ask is, if you should indeed come, you might care to express every gentlemanly courtesy in using the _door_ instead of my _window_." Her dark eyes glittered, all teasing and mischief. "I don't believe my parents would approve of your coming otherwise. Indeed, they might bar my window indefinitely, and then where would we be?"

Where, indeed?

The very suggestion that he come again through the privacy of her bedroom window—for that was what he divulged from her insinuation—was all that kept him from pulling her agianst him, and claiming that sweet mocking mouth as his once more. Fortunate that it was, however, that his desire to be in good form won out, and he instead took her right hand, kissing it soundly as any true gentleman might, even when he heard her giggle. He had the decency not to roll his eyes, since he instead released her hand and stood as a pillar of moderation. A moment passed between them in silence before Hook spoke:

"I shall…consider your generous offer." An allusion from Before. "For we have much time until then, and I fear my duties to my ship and the sea without are demanding of my every attention. It is a strenuous life in which any man of my profession must lead, since there are many sacrifices that must be made in the wake of any kind of pleasure. I have given up much in my own time, it seems." He looked at her, and then at the hook that adorned his right arm, the significance of which falling deftly upon both. But then he smiled, one of genuine sincerity, as he again took her by the hand and offered her another kiss. "And yet, for you, Miss Darling…I shall endeavour to come."

And Wendy smiled, brilliantly, as he took her above deck and turned the ship around. She stood by his side when he guided them out of the sea and into the clouds with only a happy thought based solely on the promise of next year. What Wendy didn't realise, however, was that, by extension of her invitation, the Captain planned to visit her family home more than her kind request accorded him. For traditions, as they so often go, are to be repeated without the breaking of them.

And so, after a parting kiss—one that had consequently been stolen by the Captain himself—that was both wonderful and bittersweet, did Wendy soon find herself gifted by another Christmas, and the faces of those whom she loved once again.

A year had passed, and with it, many changes had both fortunately and unfortunately come.

The war that had for so long drenched a foreign shore with the blood and tears of so many was finally over and, thankfully, her brothers—all of them—were returned to her, all alive, though a little unwell. The war had affected them in a way that killing pirates and all manner of beasts that hailed from the Neverland had not, and Wendy comforted each the best she could, even though she could never truly understand what they had endured in the trenches. Sickness, too, had been a constant shadow which clung to the Darling family, where both old and young had succumbed to the deadly ravages of the Spanish influenza. Many had died, close friends and relatives alike, and yet Wendy strove to live on for them, as well as living for the promise of something she'd long hoped would be kept. For there were times in which Wendy herself almost believed that last Christmas Eve had been but a dream and nothing more.

With this in mind, she gave a thoughtful glance at the window and looked up to see a wealth of stars, clouds, and moonlight, her eyes widening, if only slightly, at the sight of one cloud in particular, which greatly reminded her of a ship. She considered it, her dark eyes regarding its nebulous features, before it dissipated among the others, into a sea of endless grey. She turned away from the window, silently dejected.

_Of course,_ she thought a little sadly,_ it was only a cloud._

…

It was late when a visitor came to call at No. 14.

A fussy Liza had answered the door, of course, and Mr. and Mrs. Darling had greeted the one who called at so late an hour. Apologies and explanations were made, as was the visitor's custom, and the Darlings, so impressed by the man's conduct, permitted him entry. Wendy was unaware to all of this; however, when she heard her father announce that they had a guest, _her_ _guest_, she stood up from the little card game she and Slightly had been playing and saw, to her delight, one who possessed on the right of his arm something curved, sharp, and undeniably silver. It glinted imperiously in the firelight, a powerful reminder of a time from before, and Wendy clearly smiled at the stranger in welcome. It took everything within her not to cry out, when she came to accept her guest's request for her company.

"Who is this fellow?" a befuddled Mr. Darling whispered to his wife. "He claims to know our Wendy, though I cannot for the life of me ever recall having seen him before until now."

Mrs. Darling looked as equally perplexed, but then smiled when Wendy explained that she knew this man very well, having had the pleasure in meeting him last year.

"We met at Christmastime," she said, and then turned toward the smiling man—who now attired himself in the city's current fashion—in front of her. For gone was the ruff and feathered hat, his hair pulled away from his face, into a fashionable queue that made him appear all the more handsome. He almost appeared to be a man of the current age, and Wendy silently commended him for his willingness to change. "I invited him to come this year, and it appears he's accepted my offer from a year ago."

Her parents, though still a little confused by the Captain's unexpected attendance, accepted their daughter's explanation, as well as the strange man who claimed to be newly returned to London after a long, productive career at sea. It shouldn't have surprised them in the least that the man would soon become a new addition to their family, having courted Wendy most successfully where so many others had unduly failed. He was a good deal older than she, and a little eccentric in his manner of speech and bearing. The very idea of his taking a genuine interest in their daughter startled Mr. and Mrs. Darling, notwithstanding the hook that adorned his right arm; but Wendy seemed happy enough, contented to spend her life with a man as passionate in upholding their family's traditions as she.

What Mr. and Mrs. Darling failed to see that night, however, was their daughter and her gentleman caller secreted away in a corner, to where a sprig of mistletoe had been hung. They didn't see the kiss, nor the gift—a small pink sash, which, even now, held so much meaning—given to their daughter. The significance of it had been lost on them entirely, as well as Wendy's brothers, who now, if only faintly, recalled such a man with a hook from long ago. But of course, they discounted their suspicions, believing their memories to be nothing more than stuff and nonsense and dreams. They accepted their sister's happiness, as well as the man who inspired it, for James Hook, now a man who went by the respectable name of one James Worthington, had applied for an equally respectable position in teaching at a boy's school. From this change in profession, he soon acquired enough wealth—honestly, for he desired to prove his worth—to marry Wendy and purchase her childhood home at the three per cents. from Wendy's father, who by now, felt the stairs.

It was a wonderful wedding present, and Wendy, who, even now, could hardly believe in her good fortune, shared as much with the man now purported to be her husband. For unlike Peter, her beloved James hadn't forgotten her within the span of a single year, having returned on the very hour in which he'd taken her only a year prior. He'd kept the _Jolly Roger_, which he'd somehow managed to anchor in between the clouds. No one ever saw it, of course, for it was well hidden…in plain sight. But then, not all secrets were so well-hidden, for the large bump that had become Wendy's abdomen, in which Hook now lavished his attention upon with both his hand and hook, had obviously reminded her.

She laughed at his gentle teasing of her stomach, kissing him soundly on the cheek, before looking up to the skies and seeing what looked to be the shape of a ghostly pirate ship among the clouds. She smiled, happy to partake in a tradition in which they could reaffirm even without mistletoe. Irises had become a commodity in the Worthington household, for Wendy never seemed to be without them, not when her darling husband saw fit to bring one home to her after work every evening. Her child—which she secretly hoped was a girl—would like them as well, she was sure, though for an entirely different reason. Smiling once again at the Captain, she kissed him, before a slight kick reminded her that they were far from alone. She even expressed as much as a smiling Hook placed a tender kiss upon the small life growing within her.

"I have many kisses to share," said he, before he again reclaimed the gift Wendy had given him several years before. Spring-cleaning time had come and gone, and yet they, Hook and Wendy, remained, as the tradition she'd bestowed upon him would last, even when everything else was dead and forgotten. That solitary tradition would always remain. For as long as Hook and his wife lived, and even beyond that, perhaps, would he grant her the very gift that both eagerly desired every twelve months. She expected it, after all, as did he. He would die first, before he ever forgot. For with the wisdom found within her kiss, she'd given him both the desire and will to change, to truly set out on the greatest adventure of his life by living a simple, happy life with the one whom he loved most in the world. And he had a silly little tradition to thank for it. For the greatest and wisest of gifts of all are often derived from the smallest of things.

That is the reason for traditions, and is something of which Hook himself very well knew to be true; for kisses are, truly, a tradition unto themselves. And it was as such that Hook smiled, kissing his little storyteller passionately underneath the small sprig of mistletoe from which she'd suspended above their bedroom window. It was a tradition she'd begun, the year they married, and was one of which that Hook secretly cherished.

Since it was a tradition he would never miss.

…

**Author's Note: Since the world didn't end today, and because I also wanted to have something up for everyone for Christmas, I decided to finally post this story. This can actually be considered a bit of a prequel to **_**His Favourite Tradition**_**, which I wrote for Christmas a few years ago. It's odd, I know, writing these kinds of happy/family oneshots, but I guess I like writing something that takes place around Christmas for some reason. :)**

**I also want to apologise in advance if Hook and Wendy seemed out-of-character at all. Since this is Christmastime, I decided to make it a little lighter than my usual fare. Actually, I'd intended for this story to be a lot shorter, but it seems that my capturing the art of being brief for the sake of it is never going to happen for me. (Sighs.)**

**Music inspiration for this oneshot consisted mainly of Hurts' **_**"Silver Lining"**_** and **_**"Evelyn."**_** I love that fantastically cleverly, talented duo, oh-so much!**

**There's also an allusion to **_**Jane Eyre**_**, regarding what Hook says of his never receiving any presents. I love that novel, and particularly its 2006 film adaptation.**

**Anyway, as for the historical aspects, I did study a little about the history of Christmas. The holiday tradition with mistletoe, from my understanding, was first mentioned in the eighteenth century, and then later in 1820 by Washington Irving, in his short story **_**"The Sketch of Geoffrey Crayon."**_** I'm not entirely sure whether the tradition would've been practiced in England in the seventeenth century or not, but we can suspend disbelief on the possibility this one time, and simply pretend that Hook, being a good Anglican, just doesn't know any better. :) Oh, and the Puritans **_**were**_** fairly harsh on most things regarding Christmas, as well as anything else that derived enjoyment from almost…well…anything. Taking simple pleasure from reading the Bible, from the perspective of Cromwell's Puritans, would probably be considered sinful, as well. XD Either way, I can only suggest seeing the episode of **_**Horrible Histories**_** featuring it. It's luckily on YouTube, so it's worth a laugh or two. ;) **

**I also decided to place this oneshot during the First World War, close to its end, since I wanted to capture the effect it had on people whose loved ones were going into service. There's also the Christmas truce that happened in 1914, between the British and German soldiers on the Western Front. There were other truces that also happened that day, where both sides would sing Christmas carols in their own language and exchange greetings. I've also read that some soldiers exchanged gifts with the other side. It's a very touching moment in our history, but it's also bittersweet, too, in the knowledge that the war could've possibly ended that very day. In a way, I'd like to think that truce is somehow reflected in this oneshot.**

**But I hope everyone enjoyed this story; the idea for it really seemed to come out of nowhere, and I really just wrote most of it in a day. I totally wasn't expecting to write the pink sash in, but now I'm glad I did. I would honestly like to think that it was indeed a certain Captain who gave it to our dear Wendy! :D**

**Merry Christmas, everyone, and best wishes for the New Year!**

— **Kittie**


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